


The Hunt

by Arbryna



Category: Lost Girl
Genre: F/F, F/M, One Shot, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 22:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arbryna/pseuds/Arbryna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are the hunters. She is the prey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XV, with the prompt: _Bo/Dyson/Tamsin, hunters_.

They are the hunters. She is the prey.

It starts with him, with a kiss that sears into her lips and takes her breath away. His hands are rough and calloused against her skin, dragging down her arms and leaving tiny electric shocks in their wake. They settle on her hips, slide around to her ass to pull her hard against him.

He’s ready for her. She can feel him, pressing into her but not in the right place, not nearly. She’s ready too, has been since he looked at her with that feral hunger in his eyes and stepped in close. Her thighs are slippery and damp, sliding against one another as she shifts in his arms. She rakes her nails up through the coarse fuzz on his face, scrapes them along his scalp as she curls her fingers into fists in his hair. 

Dyson kisses her like he’s claiming her, like he’s made his kill and he’s marking it for all to see. His tongue strokes against hers, urging her to give him _more_ while his fingers bite into her skin hard enough to bruise. 

It doesn’t matter. The marks will be gone in a few minutes anyway.

What matters is the flex of his arms, the easy way he lifts her up to settle around his hips. What’s important is the hard press of him against her, chest to groin, so close to what they both need but still frustratingly distant. Bo’s hands drop to the fly of his jeans, clumsy fingers trembling with want as they pull it open. 

She knows this dance; she’s been his prey before.

But Dyson is a wolf, and wolves don’t hunt alone. 

Bo feels Tamsin press against her back, and the eager tug of lips and teeth on her neck makes the fire in her groin burn higher and hotter. She whimpers, tilts her head to grant better access as she reaches in to free Dyson’s cock. She wraps her hand around it, strokes slowly up and down until a growl sounds in his throat and he nips at her lower lip. 

The foil pouch is tucked into his front pocket, right where she expects it to be. She rips it open with shaking fingers, smooths the latex down over him as he thrusts into her hand. 

Enough waiting. Tamsin helps by reaching down to tug up the skirt of Bo’s little black dress. Bo is bare underneath, wet and open and aching, and Dyson doesn’t waste any time pushing into her. 

A groan catches in Bo’s throat as he fills her. That first stroke always gets her, when they’re both still too far gone to care about rhythm or release, when all that matters is the taste of his mouth and the hot clench of her muscles around him. It’s all uphill from here, all sweat and straining and grinding until they get to the top. 

Then Dyson jerks his hips, and it begins. Bo falls back, draping her head over Tamsin’s shoulder. Tamsin is solid support behind her, holding her steady while Dyson pumps into her. 

That’s not to say Tamsin is a passive participant; while she keeps Bo up with her shoulders and chest, Tamsin’s hand works its way between them. The zipper of Bo’s dress opens with the flick of a wrist, and then the straps are falling over Bo’s shoulders as that hand slides under her bra. 

It feels natural, the way that Dyson drives her into Tamsin’s body, how they all move in the same unspoken rhythm. Bo reaches behind her, tangles her fingers in blonde hair as Tamsin works tongue and teeth over the curve of her neck. She feels weightless, floating yet connected in a way that goes so much deeper than the physical. 

Intense as it is, it doesn’t last very long. It never does, this first time. They’re all so eager and aroused and _hungry_ , and the only thing that matters is getting to that peak of pleasure as quickly as possible. Tamsin’s hand abandons Bo’s breast, sliding down her abdomen to stroke at the place where Dyson’s body and Bo’s are joined, fingers tripping over slick flesh. 

Dyson shifts Bo in his arms and leans in to kiss Tamsin, trapping Bo in between them as he continues to thrust. Bo turns her head toward them, craning her neck to watch as teeth and tongues clash. It’s too much all at once, the sight and smell and feel of it all, and Bo feels a knot twisting tighter and tighter in her belly with every stroke of Dyson’s hips. She won’t last much longer. 

When Dyson breaks for air, Bo reaches up to hold him in place. His lips are inches away from Tamsin’s, close enough that when Bo turns her head just right she can pull chi from both of them. The heavy, earthy flavor of Dyson combines with the crisp sharpness of Tamsin in a way that’s better than any drug human or Fae could come up with. 

It’s all she needs to nudge her over the top, clenching around Dyson as her back arches against Tamsin. Dyson isn’t far behind, slamming into Bo hard and deep as he groans out his release. 

Everything stops, just for a moment. For this one perfect moment, with Tamsin’s palms flat against her stomach and Dyson’s hands strong at her hips, and the energy crackling hot around them. 

Then it passes; Dyson slides out of Bo, and Tamsin steadies her as she drops back to her feet. He slides the condom off, tossing it in a nearby wastebasket before stepping out of his pants, then sinks onto the edge of the bed, leaning back on his elbows as he catches his breath. 

Bo is tired too, but she’s anything but sated. As soon as her feet hit the floor she’s turning in Tamsin’s arms, sliding her arms free of the loose straps of her dress and tugging at Tamsin’s hips until their mouths crash together in a tangle of lips and teeth and tongue. 

Tamsin is the only one who hasn’t come yet, and Bo is well aware; she makes quick work of Tamsin’s tank top, yanking it over her head between kisses. The bra follows, and Bo drags her mouth down to pull a pink nipple between her lips as one hand works at the fly of Tamsin’s jeans. 

Fingers clutch at Bo’s hair, tugging and releasing as she moves over to Tamsin’s other breast. She wants to hurry, wants to sink her fingers into Tamsin and pull her apart, but she never can get enough of the way Tamsin trembles at her touch; it’s easy to get distracted. 

Strong hands on her waist pull Bo back on track. Dyson has recovered—enough to stand, anyway—and he works her dress down over her hips, presses a kiss into her bare shoulder as she steps out of it. His hands drift forward to grasp Tamsin’s hips, and Bo’s lips and tongue trail back up Tamsin’s chest as Dyson traps her between them, solid muscle at her back and soft breasts crushing against her chest. 

It’s delicious, but not what she’s after right now. She lets them know it, nipping at Tamsin’s neck just hard enough to make her gasp against Dyson’s mouth. Bo slides her hands under Dyson’s on Tamsin’s hips, pushing back until Tamsin collides with the edge of the bed. Tamsin offers no resistance as Bo forces her back onto the bed, and hunger coils in Bo’s stomach, thick and sharp and potent; it always makes her feel so _powerful_ , the way she can move Tamsin with the slightest touch. 

Bo follows Tamsin onto the bed, crawling up her body until she’s got one knee on either side of Tamsin’s waist. Slowly, teasingly, Bo reaches back to unhook her own bra, keeping her eyes locked on Tamsin as the lace falls away from her breasts. Tamsin’s eyes flash hot and dark, and Bo can’t resist ducking down to claim Tamsin’s mouth once more. The open fly of Tamsin’s jeans drags against her swollen sex as she rocks her hips, drawing eager moans from her throat. 

Dyson’s fingers slide under Bo’s thighs, hooking in the waistband of Tamsin’s jeans and underwear. He tugs them down and off of her, and when Bo grinds down again, all she feels is hot skin and slick curls and just the barest hint of the pressure she knows Tamsin needs even more than she does. 

She doesn’t make Tamsin wait anymore. With one last swipe of her tongue across Tamsin’s lips, Bo leans back on her heels and slips a hand between them, pushing two fingers into Tamsin with little preamble. Tamsin grunts, lifts her hips, and Bo smiles as she works up a hard, unforgiving rhythm.

Out of the corner of her eye, Bo can see Dyson reclining on the bed alongside Tamsin, idly stroking himself as he watches them with darkened eyes. The look on his face is unashamed, predatory, and it sparks a shiver that shoots straight between Bo’s legs. She works harder, adding another finger and scooting back far enough to lean down and take slick flesh into her mouth. Tamsin claws at the sheets, at Bo’s hair, at Dyson’s when he leans in to kiss her. It’s not long before her whole body goes tense, hips arching up against Bo’s mouth and hand. 

Bo kisses a sticky trail up Tamsin’s quivering abdomen, moves up to give Tamsin a taste of herself. Tamsin melts into the kiss, drags her hands over Bo’s bare sides and back. 

She doesn’t realize Tamsin is grinning against her lips until it’s too late—then she’s pinned flat against the mattress, looking up at a thoroughly smug valkyrie. Tamsin quirks an eyebrow, daring Bo to complain, but she never does—never could. Instead she smooths her palms over Tamsin’s thighs, jerks her hips in a wordless, wanton plea. 

Tamsin doesn’t tease her, at least not this time. She takes her hard and fast instead, holding herself up with one hand as the other dives between Bo’s legs. Her fingers plunge inside, curving in just the right spot and _thrusting_ , and Bo’s body shakes apart in mere moments. 

The mattress shifts while Bo is catching her breath; she glances over to see Dyson tearing open another foil packet with his teeth, one hand wrapped around his cock. His eyes are locked on Tamsin, dark and hungry as she sits back and licks her fingers clean. He slips the condom on hurriedly, shifts closer to pull Tamsin’s hand to his own mouth.

The hunger that flashes in Tamsin’s eyes is always harder, more primal, when she looks at Dyson. There’s a connection there, different from the one Bo has with either one. Tamsin isn’t a wolf, but she shares _something_ with Dyson that Bo just can’t touch. 

Not that she needs to; it’s a pretty amazing thing just to watch. Tamsin moves smoothly off of Bo, colliding with Dyson in a clash of lips and bared teeth. Dyson’s hands bracket Tamsin’s hips as she wraps a hand around his cock, squeezing just hard enough to draw a strangled grunt from his throat. 

There are no niceties here; they show their affection as warriors do, hard and fast and brutal. Dyson rocks forward to press Tamsin into the mattress, nipping at her lips and neck before sinking himself deep into her. Tamsin’s heels hook behind his thighs, her fingers claw at his hair; her lips part for a succession of moans that grows increasingly urgent and wild. 

Dyson slams into Tamsin one last time, his body trembling and tensing. Bo’s eyes drag appreciatively over the flexing curves of his ass, his biceps. It’s an exquisitely sensual sight, the low light of the room making his skin shine gold with sweat; almost as exquisite as the sight of Tamsin rolling Dyson over in one smooth move, grinding down against him.

Bo crawls closer, presses herself to Tamsin’s back and slips a hand between her legs. Tamsin whimpers and shifts her rhythm to accomodate Bo’s help, sliding up and down on Dyson’s cock at a feverish pace until she stiffens and arches her head back, blonde hair spilling unkempt over her back. Bo buries her face in that hair at the base of Tamsin’s neck, pressing her free hand flat against a taut abdomen to hold Tamsin steady as she shakes. 

They wind up in a tangle of limbs on the bed, which Dyson reluctantly extricates himself from to make another trip to the wastebasket. Bo leans in to kiss Tamsin, her tongue sliding out to languidly explore Tamsin’s mouth. Her hands drift down Tamsin’s body, light at first but more demanding as her body makes its continued arousal known. 

Tamsin quirks her lips knowingly against Bo’s, drags her hand down to slip over engorged flesh. Bo whines, soft and low in the back of her throat; Tamsin pushes into her, setting a slow, torturous pace. The mattress dips as Dyson slides in behind Bo, pressing along the length of her. He peppers her shoulder and back with kisses as his rough fingers trace circles into her clit. 

The urgency of a few minutes before is gone now; Bo rocks between her lovers with lazy abandon, savoring the burn that starts deep in her belly and spreads outward until it feels like every inch of her skin is on fire. Tamsin swallows Bo’s breathy moans, sucks gently at her lips, and even after Bo feels the tremors of her release subside, she can’t find a good reason to pull away.

Dyson finally gives her one, tugging her back until her lips meet his instead. She smiles into his mouth, cupping his face as she drinks her fill of the kiss. She takes a gentle drag of chi too, more out of habit than any actual need; she finds her hunger pretty well satisfied these days. 

He pulls back first, pressing a kiss into her hair as he guides her head to his shoulder. She stretches her arm over his chest as Tamsin fits herself to her back, slinging an arm over her abdomen. It always comes back to this, to Bo surrounded by her hunters, her lovers, protected and loved and _claimed_. 

There are benefits to being prey, after all.


End file.
